


Promises To Keep (Miles to Sleep)

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5300678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos has trouble letting Aramis go. He goes after him to unburden his heart and to lay the truth on the line to see what comes of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises To Keep (Miles to Sleep)

Douai is not meant to be a fortress, but it may as well be one. 

Porthos isn’t supposed to be here. In fact, he’s been chided three times by Athos for sneaking out to the valleys and rolling hills outside the monastery, but though Athos is his new Captain, Porthos has spent far too many years ignoring his good advice. It’s why he comes here and watches the monks perform their rituals. He’s been here to watch them light the morning candles, to sing their prayers, and now he watches as they tend to their gardens.

He has yet to see Aramis once, but he imagines Aramis doing all these tasks and it seems _wrong_.

How can a monastery be a better place for Aramis to serve out his sentence than an army? 

It makes no sense to him. 

Then again, Porthos has never been very close with God, so he’s not sure what sort of quiet penance you’re supposed to do when you’ve broken nearly every rule in the good book by sleeping with one of god’s appointed earthly servants on the throne.

He gives up around sunset when it becomes clear he’s not going to get to see Aramis tonight. He’ll try again later, not planning on giving up anytime soon.

* * *

Eventually, Porthos decides that watching isn’t enough. When he’s snuck away from the garrison under the premise that he’s going out for a walk to clear his head, he takes his horse and leaves for Douai, knowing that Athos will know where he’s gone as soon as he’s not back in time for morning drills, but that’s fine.

Because Aramis has been looking dissatisfied and angry the last few times Porthos has dropped in to watch him and that means Porthos needs to talk to him. He carefully ties his horse and draws out his hood from his bag, cloaking himself as closely as he can to the monks’ garb before he sneaks in.

He hasn’t had need for his lockpicking skills in years, but it’s good to know that talent like that doesn’t just fade away. He hasn’t got a clue which one of these is Aramis’ room, but so long as he keeps his head down, no one will notice an intruder.

Eventually, he sees Aramis walking with another monk, the both of them parting at the split in the hall. The other monk leaves in the direction of the kitchen, but Aramis goes towards a room.

This is it. This is Porthos’ chance.

He slips in after Aramis as quiet as a mouse and closes the door gently. He turns in order to greet Aramis, but finds that he hasn’t been as quiet as he’d hoped and there’s a short blade pointed at his neck.

“What do you want?” Aramis demands.

“Is this how you greet all your friends?” Porthos manages to get out, trying not to move too much lest the blade nick his skin. He’s appreciative when Aramis eases off the blade, but rubs at his neck to hope it won’t leave a mark. Aramis looks a touch shocked to see him, and he’s silent for longer than Porthos has ever seen him be. “Well, I know you didn’t take a vow of silence. You’ve got nothing to say to me?”

“What are you doing here?” Aramis asks, shocked. Porthos takes a better look around the room to find it’s not a bedroom after all, but rather a bath fed by the nearby springs. “Athos will have your head.”

“Athos spies on you every other day I’m not here,” Porthos says knowingly. “If he’s going to have my head, he can have his own.” He’s overcome with longing and tenderness to see Aramis after so long, not sure what he wants to say, but he’s aware what the one thought he can’t share is.

_Please come back, please come back to me, I can’t do this without you, I need you._

It’s a plea that won’t leave his lips and he sort of hates himself for it.

His eyes slip over Aramis in his robe and the state of him, quickly realizing that he’s here to bathe. Porthos could excuse himself, but it’s the first time he’s seen Aramis in weeks (properly, at least, with Aramis seeing him back) and he’s a bit too selfish to offer to leave.

Besides, the hungry look in Aramis’ eyes is enough to convince him that he ought to stay.

“I missed you,” Porthos can manage, because it’s not the entire truth, and it leaves him some protection.

“Porthos,” Aramis exhales. “How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not because of you that I’m here?”

“You can tell me a hundred times, it won’t change the fact that you are,” he says. “Did you know that Athos nearly left me too? He tried to be quiet about it, but he took a horse out and chased off to a road that we’d heard reports about. Milady was there. And then Athos was.” Porthos isn’t so thick to know that had they crossed each other’s paths, they might have been short a Captain. “And I know none of this is your fault and I know you made a promise to God, it’s only…”

He trails off, feeling frustrated beyond the telling of it.

“What?” Aramis prods.

“You made a promise to me, too,” he finally says, stubbornly. “You swore you’d be there for me. Always.” It’s a whispered promise from too many years in the field together and while it’s not one that outweighs God (apparently), Porthos is still stubborn enough to expect Aramis to stand by it, now. 

“And what of my promise to God? Shall I ignore that?”

Porthos hates being put in this position because as far as he’s concerned, _yes_ , absolutely Aramis should ignore a promise made to God that no one but Aramis is ever going to care about, but being the man’s best friend sometimes means looking out for him. That means observing and respecting his beliefs and if Porthos forcibly dragged him out of here, it would mark a severe dent in their friendship. 

“I don’t think they have to be separate,” he finally says. “Why can’t you live a godly life and still be part of the Musketeers?”

Aramis catches his eye, a hand on the towel he’s brought in with him. He is unflinching and unforgiving and his gaze captures everything on Porthos’ face that has ever been there to tell. He knows that Aramis isn’t going to let him leave without getting the whole truth and that’s a touch dangerous.

“Tell me why you want me to come back.”

The thing is, while Porthos is an awful liar, he could probably think up something right now that manages to get him out of this situation without lying all his secrets on the line. At the same time, though, he also thinks that Aramis deserves better than that.

Flush pink with embarrassment and the knowledge that he’d much rather run away than let Aramis know the truth, he leans into his courage because he has to be better than that.

“You know,” he says, an attempt to say it without actually _saying_ it.

“Say it, Porthos,” Aramis coaxes.

“Because I love you a hell of a lot more than God ever will,” Porthos swings for the fences this time, not holding anything back. He fidgets with his fingers because he doesn’t know how much more he can say without laying his heart on the line, but it’s already out there. “Only, I don’t think I’ve ever mattered as much as your women or God to you,” he confesses, feeling (and sounding) a touch wrecked. “And I’m still a hell of a lot more in love with you than I should be, considering.”

“Porthos…”

“No,” Porthos replies quietly, not having meant to force this issue at all. He’s being overly aggressive in trailing after Aramis and he needs to leave before he says something worse (though confessing you’re in love with your best friend is probably inching close to the worst thing he knows). His smile is a sad thing, but he knows what he has to do.

He steps back and flees the monastery, aware that Aramis could come after him, but he doesn’t.

It’s for the best, anyhow. Aramis has made a vow and it’s one he ought to get the chance to keep. Porthos tries to keep his mind blank of all these worries as he rides back to the garrison. 

In a turn that is far from surprising, Athos is sitting up and waiting for him in the light of the full moon, nursing what surely isn’t his first glass of wine. Porthos takes his time tacking his horse, wanting to avoid this conversation for as long as he can, but it’s inevitable that he talks to Athos. An hour later, he slumps down onto the table’s seat and wordlessly accepts the glass of wine that Athos offers.

“He’s not here,” Athos says evenly.

“I drew the line at physically kidnapping him away from his vowed life of chastity,” Porthos says, not mentioning _but only just_ is something that’s been running through his mind. “He seems…” He hates that he can say this, wishes with all his heart that he couldn’t, but he can. “…happy,” he finishes.

“Settled, I think.”

Porthos wonders if there’s even really a difference. He hates that Aramis seems to have found a home that doesn’t belong to Athos and him. Worse, now he’s gone and opened his big mouth and it hasn’t done anything to draw Aramis back to their home. It’s only brought him more embarrassment than he knows how to deal with.

“I know you nearly left, too,” Porthos says, staring down into the cup. “And d’Artagnan and Constance have each other. I’m just tired of feeling like I’m going to be the last one left behind because I’m too stupid to get out.” Maybe this is just like the Court, only he’s missed his opportunity to escape because he’d been too oblivious to see the signs. “I always thought that even with all his mistresses and his ill-advised choices, I’d always have Aramis here with me.”

Athos doesn’t deign to respond, but he does give Porthos a careful look. Lifting himself from his seat, he appears ready to go to bed, but he hesitates, as if debating whether he should really say what he’s about to.

“You don’t think enough of yourself,” Athos chides. “I’m still here. And Aramis will come around. There’s a war on. We’re going to need every soldier we can get.”

What goes unspoken is that Aramis is one of the best – something they both know – and whether it’s Athos or Treville or the Queen herself, someone is going to march up to that monastery and pry Aramis from his vow.

It just isn’t going to be Porthos and that, unfortunately, breaks his heart.

He excuses himself to his room, not having drank that much but knowing that he’ll wake with a headache in the morning borne of nothing more than his heartache. He has to hope that Athos will take pity on him and reserve his tasks for later in the day, because Porthos isn’t sure he’s going to be able to manage himself to full strength.

Through the night, he tosses and turns, the slivers of moonlight spilling through his window brightening the room and stealing sleep from him.

Only, when the moon is highest in the sky, Porthos reckons he must be dreaming because the hinges of his door creak softly and stir him in his bed. When he peers upwards past the blankets and pillows, he sees Aramis standing there in silvery blue, grey robes illuminated and making him seem unearthly.

Porthos rubs at his eyes, all too aware that this must be a dream and he’s managed to go to sleep finally. It’s a cruel dream to have, but if this is the only way that he gets Aramis any longer, he’s going to take advantage of it.

“You came back to me,” he murmurs, feeling groggy and yet more lucid than he usually does in dreams. 

There are other hints, too. Aramis looks a touch upset and Porthos would never cast such sadness on a dream version of his closest brother in arms. He only truly figures out that he’s not asleep when Aramis reaches over to touch him and his hand is so firm and solid against him, making Porthos sit up a little faster, stunned by the image before him.

Aramis isn’t wearing his Musketeer clothes, but at the same time, he’s come back to him from Douai. 

“What are you doing here?” he wonders breathlessly, reaching out to wrap his hand around Aramis’ wrist to hold on tight to him, lest he escape. Now that Aramis is back and here, there’s honestly very little that Porthos wouldn’t do to keep him here. Aramis doesn’t pull away from his grasp and Porthos takes that as a victory, shaking off the sleepy cobwebs that surround him.

“You ran off before I could get a word in edgewise,” Aramis says.

“Yeah, and you ran off even though I all but begged you to stay,” Porthos feels compelled to reply. It’s not to make him feel bad, but he sort of wants to strike to hurt because he’s been doing nothing but hurting lately. 

Aramis doesn’t look as chastened as Porthos had imagined he might at such an accusation, but he twists his hand so that his fingers slide up the warm skin of Porthos’ forearm, his whole body curling into Porthos’ as he bears into him. Porthos seizes the opportunity, taking Aramis into his arms and pulling him down into the warm cocoon of waiting blankets, happy to hold on tight.

“You said you love me, Porthos. More than that, you confessed to being in love with me. I had to come and see whether you really, truly meant it.” 

It seems a terribly intimate thing to say when they’re wrapped up in one another. Porthos has already let the truth loose and he can’t see a way to put it back in and with Aramis asking whether he truly meant it, he finds himself with only one avenue:

Continue down this rabbit hole, knowing that there is little else he could do to lose Aramis completely. So instead of shying away from the truth, he knows that the best thing to do is be honest and tell the truth and accept whatever consequences come his way.

“Did you mean it?” Aramis asks quietly, when Porthos is running the problem through his head.

This close, their noses practically brush against one another as Porthos inhales deeply to prepare himself for what he’s going to say. This near, he can see every fleck of warm gold in Aramis’ brown eyes and he can even pretend there’s a hopeful smile on the corners of his lips. From here, Porthos can breathe out and ease forward to steal the elusive kiss that’s been waiting for him for years.

He nearly has to revisit his theory about whether he’s dreaming because this feels entirely too wonderful and perfect for it to be real. The kiss is soft and slow, tentative to its touch, and it’s like nothing Porthos would have ever expected from Aramis. He lets out a soft, keening sound that makes Aramis seem to go from soft to aggressive, pinning Porthos to the bed and climbing atop him.

“Tell me you were being honest and not just trying to lure me back,” he demands, as if this could genuinely be some awful trick that Porthos is playing on him just to get him back on the side of the Musketeers before the first battles of the war begin.

“You know me better than to think I would lie to you,” Porthos says. “But if you need to hear it, then I’ll say it again and again. I’ll say it until I’m hoarse and my lips crack and bleed. Aramis, I love you,” Porthos confesses, knowing that if he doesn’t say it now, there’ll be someone else. There will be another governess or queen or woman who will steal Aramis’ heart and Porthos will never have been honest.

Even though he’s well aware that nothing can truly come of this, he knows that he can be honest.

“I need you to stay with me because I don’t know how to be a Musketeer without you,” he admits, voice rough. “Except I also know that I shouldn’t be begging you because you have your own life and your own thoughts and promises. But, I can’t help it. Aramis, please stay?”

Aramis is still atop Porthos and while he doesn’t look ready to leave, Porthos also hadn’t counted on the man abandoning them after the business with Rochefort had been sorted. Porthos reaches up for him and has too much dignity to plead again, no matter how much every part of him wants to do whatever he can just to get Aramis to stay. 

“I really did leave because I felt I had a penance to pay,” Aramis confesses quietly.

“I know,” Porthos says, because even though he doesn’t like it, he understands why Aramis had done it. “There’s other ways to pay it. Aren’t I an example of that?”

“Surely the crimes are not equal.”

“What do you think I did for years in the Court?” Porthos asks gravely. “I might not believe in God the way you do, but I’ve got every inch as much a penance to pay for the crimes I committed. Only, I do them here.”

“Good deeds, is it?”

“And mischief,” Porthos teases. “Only, in the grand scheme of things, I have to think it balances out.” He rubs his palms up and down Aramis’ hips. “Stay,” he exhales again, that pleading whisper.

Aramis makes no promise, but he doesn’t leave either. He hums an old tune under his breath that could belong to the antiquities for all Porthos knows, but it does the trick of settling his heart and mind, sending Porthos to sleep despite him clinging to awakeness to earn one more moment with Aramis before he goes.

* * *

When he wakes in the morning, Aramis is gone.

Porthos doesn’t know why he feels so heartbroken. He’s been expecting that conclusion ever since Aramis had turned up in his room, but it still hurts all the same to have poured his heart out, let his confession be heard, and still be denied what he wants the most in the world – his best friend back, never mind whether anything else is reciprocated.

He takes his time working his way out of bed. The exhaustion in his body is emotional and not physical, he knows, like his heartache is rending its way through his system. He runs a wet cloth over his face as he drapes his cape over himself to keep warm as he heads to Athos’ office for breakfast.

When he gets there, he finds he’s not the first (as he so typically is).

Seated in _his_ place is a floppy-haired, long-booted, hat-boasting handsome man and Porthos goes from heartbroken to ecstatic in no time at all.

“Aramis?” he breathes out, half wondering if he’s still dreaming.

“I thought you’d never come. Athos went to fetch wine. He assured me it’s hardly too early,” Aramis says wryly. 

Porthos can see the pain in his eyes. There’s a part of him that clearly wants to go back to Douai and Porthos knows that they might have to repair this splinter between them, but he reaches out to clasp hold of Aramis’ hand, squeezing to try and let him know that no matter what they need to face, they get to do it together.

“There’s just one thing I didn’t get to say,” Aramis remarks, eating away at his oatmeal. “And it’s very important because it will help you to understand why I’ve made the decision I have. I’m not entirely back,” he warns. “Athos has agreed to allow me several days at the monastery to continue my penance. Luckily, it’s along one of the letter routes, so he’ll be using my travel as a cover.”

Porthos nods, unable to speak until Aramis is through.

“There’s a great deal I have to make up for, but I think I’ve let it get away from me that part of my penance must be for you. You’re my best friend and I didn’t let you into this. More than that, what you feel…” He smiles sadly. “Well, I don’t want to love you because I fear I’ll break you too, but my heart has never paid attention.”

Porthos squeezes Aramis’ hand a little tighter for the words, so beyond grateful to hear any of this. “I’m more resilient than you think,” he insists.

“I want to be the one who fixes you, not the one who breaks you.”

Porthos chances a look over his shoulder to make sure Athos isn’t standing there watching before he brushes his fingers softly over Aramis’ cheek. He stares at him for a moment, content to do nothing more than let the pads of his fingertips travel over that stubbled skin, and then when his heart is bursting with love, he leans in to kiss him softly as he’s wanted to since he awoke.

Aramis’ eyes are slow to open again, but the smile on his face is nothing but pure and genuine. “What on earth was that for?”

“You can be both,” Porthos says. “You can be the one who breaks me, so long as you’re always there to fix me up. Just stay,” he murmurs.

Aramis looks at him considerately and slowly, but surely, the warm bloom of a smile appears on his face. The sadness still lurks in his eyes and Porthos knows better than to think he can vanquish it all himself, but this is a good start. 

Aramis is going to stay with him.

It’s better than a dream.


End file.
